Thanksgiving

There's a shit ton I still don't understand, and I forget that at my peril. Forgetting is great in a lot of ways, especially if it's enhanced by some kind of weird delusion that everything is just fine. It's a respite, for sure. One can even convince oneself that one has achieved a healthier detachment, a freedom long wished for. Finally! 

But sometimes there's a reminder, like a punch in the gut, a rusted dagger in the heart, a slap right in the fucking face. And in those moments, it suddenly becomes completely clear that it was only forgetting, it wasn't really the freedom and healing that comes from actually letting go or moving on. Yikes, one thinks to oneself, I sure am capable of incredible levels of denial. Aren't I. Why yes, yes you are.

I wonder if I'm too idealistic around this, and if forgetting ought to just be good enough. If so, creating circumstances where forgetting is far more likely would be in order. But I am not interested in that currently. I'm interested in goddamn motherfucking flat out straight up reality. And if people want to fuck around and perform or present or waste time and energy on a look good or an easy oblivion, that's great for them. It's not where I am currently. It's not what I want.

Anyway, an old friend of mine invited me to her house for Thanksgiving, a holiday I have really hated for the past several years, just because of all kinds of baggage and heartache. It was a great time, though. Incredible food, interesting people. I had a conversation about shit I actually care about with an interesting person for the first time in a long time. It may have been somewhat inappropriate for a dinner party on a holiday, but I didn't realize how intense the conversation was until we were already way, way inside of it. The other person didn't seem to mind. It felt like a huge relief to me. It may have been a relief for them as well. 

I was, earlier in the afternoon, absolutely dreading the social time. It was, in fact, the very last thing I wanted to do. I had had a slap in the denial face and the rusted dagger earlier, and realized that my usual response is to hide, hide, hide. Like a wounded feral cat. Just crawl under the porch and be alone in the dark and that is that. If I had been able to cancel, I bet I would have. But I was actually staying at my friend's house, so I could hardly just close the bedroom door and lock it and not come out while 20 people had a nice Thanksgiving dinner right outside. 

I had a ton of echoes of my family situation come back to me. Some years in adolescence where the last thing I wanted to do was join the family at the table for the big holiday meal. 

Anyway, I girded my loins, wandered out into the living room, and steeled myself for hours of social interaction when I really just wanted to curl up in the dark and think of doom. 

It turned out okay. There were people genuinely interested in my PhD research, for example, who had at least a passing familiarity with enough of the technicalities to have a conversation. I was doing okay at small talk. I was surprising myself. 

But over dinner, the conversation in our little corner turned to dismantling the patriarchy, and freeing women, and I really felt a surge of energy around all of that. And it had been a long time since I had found someone fascinating to talk about it with. 

By the time I went to bed, or at least by the time the morning rolled around, I had reached a resigned place around the tearing away of denial and the reminder of the day before. People have lives, and they have every right to pursue happiness, and who am I to kick against any of that. Blessings to all, peace, purpose, freedom and connection and love to all, wherever they may find it. I felt a cosmic shrug, and the full understanding that I had always been a total outsider in this case anyway, and what could I do about it anyway? Except never, ever, fucking ever, never ever ever again let myself be put in such a position. Ever. 

For the rest, fuck it all to hell. 

And I decided to stay in Santa Fe another couple of days but in a hermit hotel room, and I'll drive back on dry roads on Sunday and push my way through my last week of teaching human anatomy at ASU, and into the unknown of the next several months. 

La Cieneguilla Petroglyphs, where I had driven on Thanksgiving, in the glorious snow. 

And maybe that is as close to letting go, but not forgetting, as I can get.